


Two-Step

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom has a proposition, and Bill discovers his nesting instincts. Together they decide to make the leap into a milestone that will make their mother very, very happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta ma_chelle, my life support team, Dave Matthews, and the twins for their continual twinspiration. Mega thanks to kishmet for the prompt and all the flailing, and to pseudoblu for the last-minute (and perfect!!) banner.

"Tom, where are my boots?" Bill yelled from the foyer, passing a frantic hand through his hair as though expecting to find a long, black fringe. Going to see his mother always made him feel about thirteen again, no matter how old he got.

He hadn't included which ones he was looking for in his hollered inquiry, but was counting on Tom having noticed the outfit he'd put together that morning and derive from that the boots to which he was referring. After twenty plus years of watching Bill dress himself up, his twin could complete the look as easily as his sentences, even if he didn't care to follow the same sophisticated styles on which Bill prided himself.

"Check the stairwell closet," Tom called back from the kitchen, where he was no doubt administering a last-minute treat to their dogs.

Bill nodded, brushing back a lock of long black hair that had escaped his low ponytail, and headed for the stairwell. Once he'd donned the heeled, low-cut boots, he paced from one side of the foyer to the other until Tom joined him, took one look at him, and snared Bill into an unsolicited embrace.

"Calm down," Tom advised him, lifting a hand calloused by over twenty years of almost daily guitar-playing to palm Bill's cheek.

Bill gulped air, nodding against Tom's touch. “I'm nervous,” he confessed unnecessarily. Tom knew that much by looking at him.

“There's nothing to be nervous over,” Tom soothed. “Think of this as any other visit to Mom's.”

“But, it's not!” Bill exclaimed as Tom held the front door for him. “We're going to tell her...oh, god, we're going to tell her...”

“Breathe,” Tom told him, patting Bill's shoulder. He caught Bill's elbow and they stood on the front stoop a moment, hidden from the front lawn by the high screen of lavish foliage that lined the concrete path that led off to the left, and the driveway. He expanded his lungs and took in a deep breath as though to demonstrate.

Bill nodded again, catching onto the rhythm of Tom's steady inhalations and they stood for a moment like mirror images, doing nothing more strenuous than breathing. “Ahh,” Bill exhaled at last. “I don't understand why you're not panicking.” He voiced incredulity, but he did know – before Tom even said it.

“You're doing it enough for both of us,” Tom replied, his mouth quirking up at one corner. “So I've got to hold us together.”

Bill lifted his hand to touch the place where Tom's piercing had been. There was a small scar, the tiniest divot where the ring had resided for so long. He missed it, but Tom had said when he'd taken it out that he intended to set aside childish things. Bill, having taken his septum ring out long ago, understood. He was used to that loss more than he was to Tom's new hair style – his twin had taken out his cornrows for good, gotten everything hacked off, and now dirty blond hair fell in his eyes unless he kept it off his face with a bandanna or beanie. It was short enough that he didn't have to do anything to style it, and now that he'd gone back to his natural color, he was trying to decide what to do with it next.

“Every visit to Mom's lately, she asks us about...the future,” Bill said, revising what he'd initially planned on saying. The decision was still so new to him, so raw and fragile. As though it would waver and vanish if he spoke it aloud. Tom had wanted it for years, but Bill had held out on him.

Now they had both finally come around, and they were moving forward.

“Then we've got a lot of news to tell her,” Tom said, giving him a teasing half-smile and reaching for Bill's hand.

Fingers twined, they walked together up the path for as long as the foliage screen would allow, then disengaged. Tom's latest Audi was parked in the drive and it tooted at them as they approached, unlocking as the car detected the key in Tom's pocket.

“We'll start easy and break her in with the word of our upcoming retirement,” Bill said. He was the one still jittering and nervous over that.

He was thirty; they both were, and it felt too young to retire, at least so long as Bill had breath and song left in him and the means to keep producing it. However, the nesting instinct had struck hard. Hard enough to overcome his initial fight or flight response to the fact that they were announcing their retirement in the next week – not a break-up, as so many had predicted over the years, but Tokio Hotel was retiring from their active career. As Tom liked to put it, they were all graduating to other, equally vital projects.

Georg was getting married, surprising them all. That had been the catalyst, and subject of intense discussions between the twins behind the scenes whenever they came home from band meetings. Gustav had gently but inexorably thrown in his statement that he wouldn't keep touring without Georg, seeing as no one but a good-natured person with years of experience could help him deal with twin Kaulitzes, and he was too old and cranky to try to break someone in. Bill had considered a duo career for all of two seconds before giving in to the look on Tom's face.

It was time for a break for all members of Tokio Hotel.

They had plenty of money to carry them through a comfortable few decades. Paired with Tom's tight-fisted finance management, Bill wasn't worried. He'd always have enough to keep him in Gucci and Dior. In a few years, he might even do something with the “Billy Future” marque he'd registered. 

For now, though...for now...

“If you pass out, I'm giving you mouth to mouth in the car,” Tom warned him.

Bill pulled his knees up and stole a guilty glance across the front of the car. “I'm not going to hyperventilate,” he objected, out of habit rather than conviction.

“What do you think she's going to do?” Tom questioned him, sounding interested in the answer instead of condescending.

Bill took a few steadying breaths. “Tell us we're being ridiculous. Impractical. Scold us for inviting scandal, being unfit, unsuitable...” He had to pause to gulp more air. Verging on tears, he summed up, “Kick us out, never see us again, report us to Family Services.”

“Now you're being ridiculous,” Tom warned. “This is our mom, Bill. Trust you to jump to the absolute worst case scenario.”

Turning his head to watch the scenery flying past, Bill produced a scoffing noise. That was more Tom's job, but Bill had always been a mama's boy. Anyhow, he knew as well as Tom did that the worst case scenario was far worse – it would be repudiation, being cast out of their mother's life. Or, for their own safety, being forced to cast her out of theirs.

The ride to Magdeburg was mostly silent as Tom focused on speeding along the autobahn, whipping in and out of traffic as he did, and Bill tried not to brood. Whatever happened would play out the way it was going to unfold, yet Bill couldn't help worrying at it, letting it gnaw his vitals, because it was something he couldn't control or manipulate. He was so used to getting his way, or finding some method to bulldoze his vision into reality, that being confronted with something so utterly out of his sphere of influence – the opinion of someone very dear to him – gave him panic attacks.

The autobahn transitioned from thriving byways to more rural areas. Bill stared at the brownish-green grass and drooping trees and was propelled to another time; simpler, maybe, but harder for him and Tom. They had shot up to stardom with incredible speed, a matter of course as Bill would have told anyone with arrogant assurance, then stayed at the top for better or worse.

It had been almost depressing, for a while. Having achieved their life's dream at such an early age, what more had there been in life to strive for?

Fortunately for Bill, he had a Tom; and his twin kept finding new and surprising ways to turn Bill's innate creativity to good use. Or challenging him to find it.

No, not in bed.

...Well, not solely, Bill amended in his thoughts. After nearly fifteen years they were still as passionate with one another's bodies as that first heady, unbelievable year together, when they had at last progressed beyond suggestive song lyrics and scorching covert glances.

Tom killed the engine once he had pulled into the Trumper household driveway. “We promised we'd see Mom today--” he began.

Bill roused himself and shook his head. “And we will,” he said, but kept eyeing the heavy silver cuff bracelet on his right wrist as though it held the meaning to life. He picked off a bit of fluff that had clung to a sharp edge. As the car door opened to his right, he blinked up in surprise.

“Then quit stalling,” Tom informed him, but his lips turned up in that handsome grin that Bill still found irresistible – and would always, he was sure. He held out a hand.

Bill waved off the courtly gesture and got to his feet, climbing out of the car on legs that betrayed not a wobble of his anxiety.

He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and led the way to the house. Tom's steps were firm and brisk behind him and he smiled, remembering the way his twin used to shuffle when he'd worn clothes that bagged around his knees and ankles.

Their mother greeted them with wide smiles and tight hugs, stretching up to press kisses to their jaws and herding them inside.

"Too late for coffee?" Simone asked, beaming from one of them to the other. "Oh, it's so good to see you."

Bill was unable to repress his grin – she said that every time she saw them, and no matter how long or short the interval, he never tired of hearing it.

"Never too late for coffee," Bill assured her, following her toward the kitchen.

"And cake?" Tom added, hopeful.

"Always cake for you; at least, when you let your poor mother know you're coming."

"Wouldn't dare to do otherwise," Bill said, and meant it.

"Then come and sit, and talk, and tell me what's new," Simone invited.

Bill bit his lip, eyes dancing as they met his twin's over his mother's head. She had no idea what they had in store for her, not by half.

* * *

"My goodness," Simone said, folding her hands before her and giving the remains of the cake a considering squint. Sometimes when she tilted her head just so, Tom thought he could see what his twin would look like when they were old together, and to him it was a new variation on the beauty that had always been. "Retired, at your age?"

"It's all Georg's fault," Tom said, carelessly throwing his arm along the back of Bill's chair. Within their family, he never had to check himself so far as closeness went. Though most German families weren't physically expressive, nor did they voice their affection even in hinting words, Tom and Bill had been raised differently.

Their mother had always been more than a bit of a rebel, Tom thought with fondness; it was a trait she'd passed on to both of her sons.

"You'd say that even if you were the one to suggest retirement," Simone stated, flashing Tom a reproachful look. "After twenty years of being picked on, who could blame the poor boy?"

"Boy?" Tom shot back with a short laugh. "You know he's in his thirties, right, Mom? About to get married and pop one out."

"I never taught you such vulgar language, I don't know where you picked it up," Simone said, raising her nose in the air with an exaggerated sniff. She was all smiles in the next moment, looking back and forth between them. "But what will you do?"

"Well," Bill began, and picked at his napkin, folding it diagonal-wise and creasing it with a finger. He avoided everyone's eyes.

"Don't tell me you're getting married, too," Simone said, sounding amused.

"Mama, please!" Bill exclaimed, in horrified tones. Simone was laughing too hard almost to be heard.

She waved a hand at them both, still laughing. Her eyes were beginning to tear up. "Sorry...I'm sorry, Billy, I know I shouldn't laugh..."

Tom stroked a thumb at Bill's nape as his twin drew himself up in his chair, wounded.

"You ought to know by now that I'm not getting married so long as Tom's not," Bill mumbled, putting the excuse out there that they'd begun to use when they'd reached their mid-twenties, past the point of bachelorhood.

Everyone knew by now that Bill was gay, even if he'd never admit it to the press; no one asked the question anymore, because it was consistently shot down when they couldn't screen it out. Bill talked vaguely of behind the scenes love affairs that hadn't worked out, and being unable to find that one girl no matter how hard he tried, ultimately offering the explanation that he was too married to his career to do someone justice.

That wasn't quite true, but they had to tell the press – and management - _something_. They'd sworn to live their lives free, and for Tom and his twin, that meant being together, heart body and soul. Once making that commitment and cementing it into lines of text carved onto their body in tattoo ink, they'd never looked back.

They had looked for reasons to explain it, to those not inclined to accept anything outside the norm.

"I know very well," Simone said, lifting her head to fix them with unexpectedly clear eyes. She pressed her hands together and smiled, a watery sort of smile the likes of which Tom hadn't seen in years.

It reminded him of conversations Tom had had with his mother long ago on the subject of girls, and settling down. _Not now,_ she'd said; _I know you're having too much fun now, but some day..._

"Mom," he'd replied in earnest. "You know I'm never getting married, right?"

"Because of Bill?" she had asked.

Tom had been quiet a moment before shrugging and merely replying, "It wouldn't be fair."

"To him?"

"To the girl."

That had been the end of the discussion. Simone had never brought up girls again, not after a long ago indiscretion that had been more for the label's benefit than anyone's. It had backfired badly, both with the fans and between Tom and Bill, and so neither of them had put up with being put in that kind of corner again.

"I also know very well that you'll drive each other crazy, without some kind of project to keep you both occupied, your minds engaged," Simone continued, giving them shrewd looks. "Whenever the two of you weren't absorbed with music you were always busy trashing the house, or tearing each other to shreds."

Tom shrugged uncomfortably, licking his lips in a habitual gesture that he couldn't seem to get rid of, even when there was no lip ring to snag with his tongue. Back then, their feelings had been so bottled up they had expressed it in all the worst ways: picking on each other, bullying one another to the point of tears or sullenness, even devolving to physical violence. He rubbed his finger over Bill's nape again, catching his twin's glance from the corner of his eye.

It was time to drop their biggest bomb.

"Actually, you know how you've been asking us every time we visit lately when it is we'll be providing you with grandchildren?"

Simone gaped. Her dark eyes moved back and forth between them, disbelieving. "Which one of you is pregnant?" she demanded.

"Mama!" Bill squealed, kicking out in a flail and thunking a boot against one of the table legs.

"I thought I'd never see the day," Simone said, raising her hands up as though in prayer, though Tom knew personally that she wasn't into that sort of thing unless saying 'oh God, what have I done to deserve these twin sons' was a prayer of some sort. "If only your father was here--"

"He's at the music school," Tom interjected, puzzled.

Simone gave him a sharp glance. "Yes, and if he were here, we'd all go out to celebrate."

Tom grinned at her, shaking his head, reaching a hand up to tousle the shorn-close tufts of hair at the crown of his head. Some days he reached up half-expecting the tight ache of cornrows. "We haven't even given you any details yet."

"So give!" Simone urged, leaning forward. Her brown eyes gleamed and she cupped her empty coffee mug between both delicate hands. She had the same burgeoning enthusiasm for whatever kindled her fancy that got Bill all fired up, then and now.

"No one's pregnant yet," Bill spoke up, and took a steadying breath as he pushed his own coffee mug around by the fragile handle.

Tom palmed his hand at Bill's nape; lightly, enough to let him know he was there. Ten years ago, that question fired off from their mother would have been enough to provoke Bill to a panic attack, weird sense of humor or no.

"We've decided to hire a surrogate," Bill said, glancing to Tom as though for affirmation, though Tom knew it was more for reinforcement than any kind of inquiry. "You know...we don't...there's not..." He fumbled, his voice thick as though the cords were giving out on him.

"There's not anyone else in your lives," Simone supplied, her tone gentle. "Nor is there likely to be."

Tom frowned at his mother, startled. Did she...? Her expression was resigned, perhaps a little sad, but overall there was a quiet acceptance to her features that he recognized. She had worn a similar expression when she had told him she'd signed the agreement that would put them in Jost's custody, living in the band apartment attached to their first little studio. She had come to terms with something she could neither change nor influence, because her sons had a drive and passion that couldn't be satisfied by anything less. But did she _know_? This was the most overt reference their mother had ever spoken.

"No, n-no, I mean...Yes. That's how it is." Bill placed a white-knuckled hand on the tabletop. Tom cupped Bill's neck and rubbed a soothing thumb there.

"We want kids, without all the inconvenience of finding and courting a girl and getting her lovestruck enough to agree to let us knock her up," Tom said bluntly.

Both Bill and Simone were pulling scandalized faces.

"Disgusting, as usual," Bill said, digging an elbow into his ribs.

"So we're hiring a surrogate to have our babies," Tom continued, looking his mother in the eye. He was proud of his plan. "We'll meet with a fertility clinic later this week, one of our assistants made the appointment."

Simone looked watery-eyed again. "And how many grandchildren can I expect, to start?"

Bill made a low noise, the pleased sound he made when things were going their way and he'd expected to fight much harder. "Two, to start," he replied. He flashed a shy grin in Tom's direction.

 _See_ , Tom wanted to say as he grinned back. They'd had to tackle the world, take them on, win them over. They'd put up with incomprehension and disgust and rejection from many quarters. Their mother had always supported them – and always would, Tom knew. She had guessed their most closely held secret and kept it safe. Who would believe it anyhow? Twins didn't do what they did; or if so, never told. Hiding in plain sight, Tom had found a way to be with his twin for always, and never part.

"I was beginning to think the dogs were the only grand-babies I was getting," Simone said, pushing back from the table and gathering up the mugs. "Do you want to go out for dinner?"

"No, speaking of fur-children, we'll have to get home to feed ours, or put up with another riot," Tom said.

"Sadie's figured out how to tear the feed bag open," Bill said mournfully.

Tom twisted his lips and gave his twin an annoyed glance. "And someone won't let us punish her," he countered.

"She doesn't know she's done anything wrong--"

"She would with some negative reinforcement to curb the behavior--"

"Sadie is an _animal_ , Tom, not a child; she doesn't have higher reasoning--"

"But she's capable of learning--"

"Your children," Simone cut in loudly, "are going to be the most spoiled brats in existence."

Tom dissolved into a sheepish grin, brightening when Bill reflected it right back at him. He pulled his arm from the chair's back and placed it on his thigh, well within range the way he sprawled out. It wasn't even a moment before a light touch stroked over his knuckles and they twined fingers beneath the table.

"We've started reading parenting books," Bill confessed, and bit his lip.

Simone laughed gaily. The mugs clinked as she carried them from the table. There was still an amused light in her eyes when she returned to them, looking back and forth between them and raising her brows until her forehead creased. "Well, I only have one piece of advice for you," she said.

Bill's hand tightened on Tom's beneath the table.

Tom mirrored his mother's raised brows. That was it – this was going to be that easy?

"Be consistent," she said, and settled back in her chair to deploy the smirk that they had both inherited, and Tom put to regular use.

"What?" Tom exclaimed.

"You never--" Bill retorted, at the same time.

"Yes, and that's why I'm advising you to do it," Simone said, her grin positively impish. "And stick to your guns. If they're anything like you, you'll need a pair of Howitzers."

Bill slumped into his chair. "Well, if you're just going to make fun of us..."

"I would never," Simone assured, eyes dancing. "I'm simply waiting to shove the door closed behind the two of you before I do my victory dance. It's unsightly."

"I've seen Bill dance," Tom said, waving a hand in dismissal. "It's kind of like a stork trying to mate with a suit of clothes..."

"Hey!" Bill complained, elbowing him at once.

"So you've driven all this way to spring big news on me over coffee, and sprint off into the night?" Simone demanded.

"Well, yes," Tom said, unconcerned. "We figured you'd be used to it by now..."

"And you can tell family about the retirement, but not about the babies until they're in second trimester," Bill interjected, leveling a stern finger at their mother, who mimed locking her lips and throwing a key over her shoulder.

"I know," Simone said, and sighed. "Best to be sure we have good news to report. And you two have a long drive back to Hamburg..."

"Are you kicking us out?" Tom questioned.

"I kicked you both out of the nest long ago," Simone said, making a flapping motion with her hand, but she looked wistful. "No...you left on your own."

Tom disentangled his hand from Bill's, patted his thigh, and stretched.

"Because you gave us strength to fly," Bill told her, going round the table to bestow a warm hug. He looked somewhat shell-shocked, Tom noted; he always did when someone shattered the expectations of dread that he'd set for himself.

They were close enough as they left the house that their knuckles brushed. Tom had long since given up on flinching away. It was love; nothing they shoved in anyone's faces, and if someone saw and disapproved, it was their own unhappiness or inwardly turned revulsion they were projecting.

"See?" Tom challenged, when they were far enough away from the house that their mother wouldn't be able to hear any exchanges between them. "Everything went fine. She's over the moon...she's been hinting for ages about grandchildren, and now that's the only thing she can think about. We're giving her the grandchildren she's been dying to spoil." Now that they were out of the house and past the potential crisis point, Tom could let himself relax, too. He hadn't let himself entertain more than a fleeting notion that their mother would have a problem with what they'd decided to do, but he'd been tense for Bill's sake.

"Do you think she knows?" Bill put forth the small, forlorn question as he leaned against the car, speaking to Tom from over the roof.

Tom looked into his brother's worried eyes. Over ten years later, he still found Bill more beautiful than anything in his life, and it was an endless source of pride to him that _he_ was what Bill had chosen, despite all the obstacles.

"Does it matter?" Tom returned.

Bill studied the top of the car while Tom pretended to fish for his keys, giving his twin the chance to wipe his eyes dry. "No, I suppose not."

"We're a family, no matter what," Tom said with assurance, cracking his door open and grinning at Bill when his twin had composed himself. "Mom knows that, and it's all that matters."

"Now what?" Bill inquired, sliding into the passenger seat, tucking his knees to his chest in a limber display that made Tom want to climb on him, right then and there.

"Now we go home; have some married sex," Tom replied, keying the ignition to life.

"Mmm," Bill purred. "I love our married sex."

Tom grinned and peeled out of the driveway, pleased over this particular incentive to flout the traffic laws.

* * *

The office was not the sterile white that Bill had been expecting; he supposed the doctors saved that kind of atmosphere for the labs, with their white coats and stainless steel surfaces. He was glad nonetheless to pass through the waiting room with its deep green couches and brown carpet, abstract paintings hung on cream-colored walls and several couples huddled at discreet intervals from one another. He and Tom were shown to an inner office right away, and Bill slid his sunglasses into his handbag, giving a brief touch to Tom's wrist to still his drumming fingers.

Tom flicked a glance at him, ducked his head like the bashful boy he'd been once upon a time, and stuck his hand into a pocket.

Neither of them had ever quite gotten past the habit of fidgeting through stress or nervous energy, and this was a particularly anxious scenario for both of them.

The doctor greeted them with handshakes and ushered them into plush, comfortable chairs in a warm, oak-paneled room that seemed more like a gentleman's lounge than the workplace of a medical professional. Bill looked around, half-expecting to see a wet bar.

They had been worried that the doctor would ask them about their qualifications for parenting, or why they wanted to do it, or even question them on the grounds that two brothers were sitting before him proposing to have children through a surrogate. None of those questions came, and the man didn't even bat an eyelash when Bill laid out the main criteria before him.

"We want you to fertilize two ova," Bill blurted, sitting bolt upright with his hands clenched on his knees. "One with my sperm, one with Tom's. Then we want both ova implanted in the surrogate mother."

"It's a little more complicated than that," the doctor told them, looking unfazed. "We'd want to fertilize several ova from each of your sperm, due to the potential failure of the ova to implant."

"That's right," Bill said with a nod, and his brow creased. "But you can freeze the rest, right?"

The doctor nodded. "It's standard procedure. Typically we try to implant more than one ova, anyhow, to make sure that at least one will take."

Bill inhaled, his fears already easing. First their mother, now their chosen doctor voiced no apparent objections. "I understand, but we only want one of each when you try to...implant them."

The doctor nodded, looking back and forth from Bill to Tom. "Twins...for twins?"

It was the first time anyone had said it aloud since Tom had whispered it to him late at night, when they'd lain sweaty and tangled up together after agreeing to take this final hurdle together. Parenthood. A child for each of them, both theirs.

"Yes, exactly," Tom spoke up. "Can you do it?"

"Well, yes, of course," the doctor replied, brushing that aside as not worthy of consideration. "You realize, neither child would have distinguishable paternity from either of you, in any case...?"

"That doesn't matter to us," Bill said, rubbing a hand over one of his thighs to stifle the urge to reach for Tom's hand. "It's symbolic."

"And you're sure you want to do this?" the doctor asked earnestly, leaning forward and lacing his hands together on the blotter. "What if one of the two embryos fails?"

Bill caught Tom's sideways glance, though he didn't even need to do that much to catch Tom's small nod. "We go forward," he replied.

"It will still be both of ours," Tom asserted, his expression serene. "Like you said, there'd be no way to test for specific paternity. And we'll try again for twins some day."

The doctor nodded, a frown creasing his forehead for a moment, his intensely blue eyes very penetrating beneath bushy white brows. He sat back in his seat and clapped his hands, startling them. "We can get started as soon as you're up for it," he said, and was so solemn-faced that Bill didn't dare to laugh at the double entendre.

"That's it?" Tom spoke up. "No more questions, no prodding through our medical history, no asking why we'd want to do this?"

Bill gritted his teeth. Was Tom trying to make this difficult for them?

"None of that," the doctor agreed, his craggy face assuming more relaxed lines. "You think this is the strangest request I've had? Not by a long shot, boys. You both look young, healthy, you obviously have enough money to provide for your offspring, and it's not my business to inquire into your fitness for parenting. My administrative staff handle the contracts, of which you'll be signing a cartload, including the extensive confidentiality clauses your lawyer required."

"That's it," Bill interpreted, flashing teeth in a high-beam smile.

"My job is to consult on what you want, and determine whether my clinic can provide it. You want us to produce fertilized ova from each of you, and implant them into a surrogate mother that our affiliate service can locate for you." The doctor smiled right back at Bill. "This we can do. Yes, boys, that's it. Shall we get started? It's going to be a long road from here to the maternity ward."

Tom grinned at last, and Bill clapped his hands. It might be a long road, but they were on it.

* * *

It came as no surprise to Tom that a physical, followed by specimen collection, rendered his twin horny enough to attack him not even a meter from the door to their home. They were engaged in the first steps to creating new life, after all; and Tom had read the parenting books and articles and advice blogs in the fertility forums. He was prepared, even expecting a certain amount of rampant hormones, and willing to accept the consequences.

Their first visit a success, all they had to do now was await the results of the genetic work-up and locate a surrogate that met their needs, and then there would be more waiting. And waiting.

Tom was pretty sure he was facing a lot of dog-walking in his future. And sex, hopefully lots of sex as well.

"I need a baby, Tom," Bill said, advancing on his twin with his eyes flashing a dangerous light. "My biological clock is going off like a timed explosive."

"Let's go have sex," Tom suggested cleverly. "I hear baby-making takes lots of tries at our age, until it takes."

Bill's mouth dropped open. "Tom...you are aware I'm not making the baby, right? I'm not, um, equipped."

"That's the job of the lovely lady we hire to carry them, but we're still in baby-making mode," Tom asserted. He snared Bill close with an arm and stroked a hand up through the long, black hair he loved to tug on. Bill emitted that little moan that never failed to make his knees tremble. "You and I, we're going to make babies."

"I never thought that would be a turn-on," Bill said breathlessly. His eyes were near black with desire. "I need you to take me to bed right now, Tom Kaulitz."

Tom waggled his brows. "I can do that!" He bent and clipped Bill under the knees, hauling his skinny body up into his arms and pressing a kiss to his temple even as Bill squawked and flailed out, as indignant as ever over the prospect of being carried.

"You suck!" Bill declared, striking at him with a closed fist, making Tom grunt melodramatically with the impact.

"I'm going to, if you stop resisting," Tom promised.

Bill cheeped and hid his head against Tom's shoulder. "I'll be good," he promised. "Want you to suck it."

Tom carried Bill up the stairs without delay. Maybe he wasn't leaping two at a time as he'd used to, but Bill was still as light an armful as ever and he swung over the threshold to their shared room with vigor, glad for his daily fitness regimen.

"I want to suck yours, too," Bill confessed in his ear.

Tom set him down on his feet, shucking his shirt off and returning to close the door at the same time. He arched his brows at Bill. "Want to do it at the same time?"

"Yes...no...yes," Bill quavered. "I'm not sure I'll be able to concentrate; you do it so good..."

"Get on the bed," Tom told him. "We'll go from there."

Bill squeaked excitedly and ripped his shirt off, throwing himself onto the bed and making Tom grin.

It swelled Tom with pride and a very primal thrill of possessiveness that no matter how bossy Bill got, no matter how controlling or downright waspish he could be when micro-managing every aspect of their outside lives, when it came to the bedroom he was sexual putty in Tom's very eager hands. Tom dropped his pants and stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, stroking himself as he watched Bill wriggle out of his tight jeans and clinging black boxer-briefs.

"Touch it, I want you to suck it, kiss it, lick it," Bill uttered, already playing a hand down his luminous-pale skin, brighter in comparison with the dark ink etched on his side, his hip, low on his belly, and looping around one thigh.

"Touch yourself," Tom commanded.

Bill nodded, snaking a hand down the faint curve of his tiny pot belly, which had made him leery of swimsuit Maldives photos for years but Tom found utterly endearing. He wrapped a hand around his cock and bit his lip, fixing Tom with needy eyes as he began to ease his foreskin up and down over the bulbous, fiercely red tip of him.

Tom pushed his own boxers down, standing at the foot of the bed and staring down at the staggering beauty that lit up his life. He wanted to suck on that slick, red tip that was appearing and disappearing into the hood of foreskin as Bill moved it back and forth. He never thought he'd develop a fetish for sucking cock – once upon a time, he'd played women's bodies as easily as his guitar – but it was Bill's and he loved every part of him.

"Need you," Bill let him know.

Tom nodded, tonguing a ring that was no longer there, admiring for a moment longer. "Bill," he said, softly calling Bill's attention to him. "We're going to make babies."

Bill moaned, arching his hips up off the bed and giving him a nod more frantic. "Yes, yes; can we do it now?"

Tom suppressed a grin, decidedly not making a point of the fact Bill had been telling him only moments before that he would _not_ , in fact, be producing Tom's issue. They were having children together, after all, and this kind of sex was the closest they'd ever get to procreation. He climbed onto the bed, settling his head near Bill's groin and aligning his feet near the headboard.

A manicured hand grasped at his hip, stroking the skin there before an index nail scratched lightly over Tom's belly. It made the muscles there tighten, and he looked down with a grin as Bill underlined his tattoo and the words that scrawled their union for the world to see, if they'd look and acknowledge.

"So married," Bill whispered, stretching forth to kiss the taut skin above crisp hair.

"Let's have married sex," Tom murmured in response.

Sometimes he wondered how others managed it, people who weren't twinned, those who hadn't been created to equal proportions. They were the right fit, the perfect proportion to nestle like yin and yang and pleasure each other like this. Tom leaned forward and it was there, the rosy proof of Bill's desire. He lifted the stiffening shaft out of the way and nuzzled at Bill's hairless sac, already drawn up tight and eager against his body.

Tom opened his mouth, licking his lips with anticipation and breathing harshly as Bill nuzzled at his balls, taking the scrotum into his mouth and sucking at them with low pleasured noises. Tom inhaled, eyes falling nearly shut. Bill's soft sucking noises, the seal he was creating with his wet, hot mouth, sent a pleasure through him like no other.

Despite his absorption, Tom managed to stick a finger in his mouth and get it good and wet. He stroked around Bill's closed-up little bud before laying a wet line of heat over Bill's scrotum. He matched Bill's pace, mirroring the movement and sucking a delicate hairless ball into his mouth.

Bill made a sweetly anxious noise around his mouthful, the vibrations traveling through Tom's sac and making his eyes roll back in his head an instant, pleasure-dazed. Without even much trying, Bill had this kind of affect on him. This was why they didn't do the sixty-nine often; they were both so susceptible to each other that they'd get too caught up to reciprocate. Tom groaned response to Bill's tongue writhing over and between his balls and resumed lapping at Bill's scrotum, switching from one drawn-up globe to the other. He slipped his wet finger into Bill's hole, its passage eased by spit and how nicely relaxed Bill was.

"Ahh," Bill exhaled, gusting a stream of breath over Tom's damp skin and making his cock jump.

Tom pulled up from tonguing Bill's balls. "Tease," he accused, voice already gravelly-deep.

Bill's eyes smoldered down the aligned lengths of their bodies. "Not a tease when you're going to have me," he stated, and bent to drag the bead of his stud up Tom's central vein.

A shudder traveled through Tom and he saw Bill licking up pre-come before he returned to his own efforts. Bill smelled clean and musky to him as usual; he ruthlessly waxed his private bits as he had since he was fourteen, yet his intrinsic odor was strongest here. Tom nuzzled at the base of his shaft and rubbed his cheek along it before finding the tip and rolling his lips down over the head, greedy for the taste of him.

He marveled that he could never get enough, and Bill was certainly insatiable enough to match. He wondered if other people were ever so lucky, paired with someone matching them in every way, from like-mindedness to sex drive. He hoped they'd be this crazy for each other until the day they died. He had a good feeling about it.

Bobbing up and down, Tom did his best to establish a rhythm, moving his one buried finger to the same tuneless melody that joined them. Bill was beginning to suck him fiercely, taking in more and more as he slurped down the length of Tom's cock and pumped his hand at the base.

"Mmm," Bill crooned around his mouthful.

"Glug," Tom responded incoherently. He pulled off and kissed the tip, spending a sweet, uncounted interval licking and nuzzling at it, mouthing around it, loving it with his tongue. At last Bill nudged his head with a thigh, humming a demanding note.

Tom grinned and went down again.

They could establish a pretty good rhythm when they got going, each alternating in the movement of going down and sliding back up. Tom's eyes fluttered closed as he got into it, blissing himself out with the length of Bill's cock going down his throat, enjoying the same down below as Bill opened up around him and took him all the way in.

It was always mutual when they pulled off, grinning sheepishly at each other with spit-slick lips. Whatever tiny cues of tensed muscles, anxious noises and mounting arousal let them both know they were getting close, yet wanted more.

"I want your cock," Bill murmured, rubbing his cheek against the entire saliva-wet length of it in a bold, feline move.

"You've got it," Tom pointed out, twitching his hips. It pushed his dick against Bill's cheek and Bill crooked a mischievous grin his way. "What do you want to..."

"You, in me," Bill decided, bestowing a last kiss to the tip and splaying his glorious nudity against the sheets. "I've been thinking about it ever since they made me jerk off in that stupid cup."

"It's for our babies," Tom reminded him.

Bill's eyes kindled with a fervent glow that might have been frightening to anyone but Tom. "Yes, I want our babies," he said, passing a hand down his lean body and teasing at the five-pointed triple star. He lifted a leg up, pressing it toward his chest, opening himself up and making himself available to Tom's hungry eyes.

Tom licked his lips once before shifting around in bed, crawling over to the bedstand to grab the very much used bottle of lubricant. "How do you want it?"

"I'm ready, so ready," Bill assured him breathlessly. "Push it in, okay?"

Tom grinned down at him, equal parts affection and wonder that this gorgeous creature was in his bed, their bed. They were going to have sex; they were making babies. Even right now little bits of Bill and little bits of Tom might be making their way to someplace warm and dark and baby-producing. That thought gave Tom an odd little lurch inside and he hovered over Bill, drizzling lube from the bottle onto Bill's exposed cleft and working his fingers in one at a time.

"When you're ready," Tom said hoarsely.

"I'm always ready," Bill asserted, reaching down to grip himself as though to show Tom proof.

That only led to Tom groaning, and thumbing Bill open. He set the lube aside and rubbed himself along Bill's little ass, admiring the way his hard red cock lay between the tiny swells of Bill's ass until Bill grunted breathlessly at him to get on with it.

"I'll get on you," Tom vowed, a stupid joke that only made them both chuckle as he positioned himself. He was grateful for one thing that had crept up along with turning thirty; he didn't have to worry about blowing his load prematurely in Bill anymore. Or. Not often. Most of the time even the thought of getting on Bill, getting it in Bill was enough to get him hard, but he didn't drop the ball the way he'd used to, once upon a time. Embarrassing for him, hilarious to Bill, but the one compensation had been getting it up again in fairly short order.

"Tom," Bill said softly, reaching out to touch his stomach. "Are you with me?"

"I'm always with you," Tom assured him. He brought his knees close to Bill's ass, lined himself up, and pushed the tip of his cock in.

"Mm...ahh," Bill sighed luxuriously, stretching his arms up above his head.

He was tight around Tom's cockhead and Tom gritted his teeth as he paused a moment. He reached for the lube and Bill handed it to him; squeezed out another trickle and pulsed softly, working it into Bill's body with dick instead of fingers this time.

Bill made a soft, tense little noise and spread his thighs wider.

"Ugh, you're killing me," Tom informed him, capping the lube and tossing it toward an unoccupied pillow that was draped with a towel.

"If I'd killed you, you wouldn't be fucking me," Bill replied, saucy. He clenched, bringing his staggering tightness to bear.

Tom caught his breath and reached down to grab Bill's thighs. "You're the one who's going to be limping later," he warned, pushing his cock past Bill's resistance until it slipped in further and Bill arched his back with a moan.

Bill's eyes flashed up at him. "Like you're that big," he taunted.

Tom grinned, perfectly confident in his size. He was big, big enough that he'd been hurting Bill during their first time and they'd had to switch positions to make it easier for Bill to take him. Bill took him in easily enough now, but he was always tight at the start.

"Big enough to keep you happy," Tom returned, flexing his hips and keeping up the pressure until he was buried to the hilt.

"Ohh," Bill's breath fluttered out of him as Tom pushed in all the way and rested his weight on Bill.

"Okay?" Tom asked quietly, keeping his gaze intent on Bill's drawn features.

Bill's eyes snapped open. "Quit getting misty-eyed and fuck me," he stated, tightening down on Tom again.

"Nnng," Tom managed, and began to saw his hips back and forth, not even aiming for Bill's spot. That would come later.

Tom pumped in and out, enjoying the lazy, sensuous pleasure of being able to fuck Bill all afternoon if he wanted. Bill got a lot of enjoyment from the sensation of having a dick in his ass without even getting into prostate involvement and Tom took advantage of that, giving Bill long, shuddering strokes and reaching down to grasp his erection every so often, jacking him in time with his shorter, more frantic thrusts.

He kept changing his rhythm, making Bill cry out and tense down on him. Tom filled Bill up with his cock until Bill was sweating, lying on the bed twitching and cursing him out and demanding faster, harder.

"More," Bill moaned, grasping out with both hands for Tom.

Tom pushed all the way in until he couldn't go further, crowding Bill's legs against his chest and dropping heavy kisses all over his jaw and face until their mouths opened to one another. He sucked on Bill's tongue and pulsed his hips, thumbing Bill's nipples until Bill was squirming and shoving against him and whimpering for more, even more.

"Not like this," Tom decided, pushing up over Bill and sitting back. With a wince, he pulled his dick out of Bill, eliciting a shaky cry of protest.

"I want it, put it back in," Bill said, glaring between his spread legs at Tom.

"I want you on your knees," Tom said, tapping his dick against Bill's flushed hole. "Get on your knees and I'll nail your button like we're on a game show."

Bill groaned, grinning widely at the same time. He was flushed and rumpled and smelled like sex and home to Tom as he rolled over, getting his legs underneath him and pushing his butt out at Tom. "You are ridiculous, you know that?"

"You love my ridiculous," Tom declared, lining his cock up with Bill's entrance again. They both moaned as he slipped it back in.

"I love...you," Bill said breathlessly. "The ridiculous just comes with it; package deal."

"Mm-hmm," Tom mumbled. He grabbed Bill's hips and snapped forward in quick, sure strokes, angling down where it would give the most pleasure. "Love your everything."

Bill made no verbal response, but tightened down on him and pushed himself back to meet each eager thrust that Tom gave him.

"Feels good," Bill moaned, arching his back and crowding against him. The sound of their bodies slapping together was the only thing left in the world.

Tom's vision narrowed down to the stretch of pale, sweaty hips and back in front of him, messy black hair a stark contrast against the pale cream of pillows and sheets. Bill turned his face, mouth open as he panted, eyes seeking Tom's.

They reached out to each other by reflex as Bill came with a startled cry. Tom hadn't even gotten to the reacharound; he felt around Bill's hip and stroked down his spasming cock as though to wring out the rest of the come he was unloading on the sheets. As Bill reached his orgasm with a series of pretty cries, he was so tight around Tom's dick that Tom could barely move.

Tom let go of Bill's hand and his cock and grabbed his hips again, rocking into him urgently for his own last stretch.

Beneath him, Bill stretched and loosed an accommodating moan. He tightened down on Tom in rhythmic contractions.

With a few more thrusts, Tom was there. He draped himself over Bill's back, stroking and rubbing his hands over every bit of sweaty skin that he could reach. Bill's post-sex scent was like a perfume he could bathe in. All through it Bill's noises continued, pleased utterances letting Tom know even though he was spent, he was still getting pleasure out of the joining.

At last they settled down together, bodies glued with Tom's front plastered to Bill's back. Tom continued to stroke along Bill's thigh, his belly, avoiding the now-sensitive groin but touching and nuzzling and praising him as they came down from their high.

"Think it took?" Tom quipped, and snickered when Bill grasped the towel beside his head and whipped it over his thigh, smacking Tom's ass with remarkable accuracy. Carefully, Tom held Bill's hip down and pulled out, grabbing the towel and beginning to wipe Bill down before they got too tired and fell asleep. Waking up with dried come wasn't the best sort of afterglow to contend with. Cleanliness routine taken care of, they shifted into cuddle configuration.

"If that's making babies," Bill said, still breathing hard as he rolled into the crook of Tom's arm, "we are _so_ doing that all the time."

"Baby, we're going to keep doing that until you're not the baby anymore," Tom vowed, nuzzling at Bill's black hair.

Bill pouted at him. "I thought I was always going to be the baby."

"We'll see," Tom said, already trying to think up new endearments that wouldn't freak him out when he had the prospect of newborns to look forward to.


	2. Chapter 2

Her name was Anya, and in exchange for a handsome but not outrageous sum and coverage of all of her hospital bills, she'd agreed to be the surrogate mother to their children. She met the list of everything that Bill and Tom had decided upon together, including the fact that she wasn't a fan, and had agreed to let them be present for each milestone of the journey, from ultrasounds to in-hospital birth. Anya wasn't the actual mother – the ova that they had selected had come from an anonymous donor list that gave them the mother's physical traits and a list of less tangible qualities, medical history and genetic screening for hereditary diseases.

That part wasn't as sexy, but Bill had pored over all those catalogues as excitedly as he shopped for new couture. He and Tom had both picked a redhead, knowing there was a good chance they had that recessive and could end up with redheaded children of their own.

They weren't present for the implantation of their fertilized ova, but Tom had it marked on the calendar. He paced all morning, though he denied it every time Bill called him on it.

"I hope they tell her to stay on her back and keep her legs in the air," Tom fretted as he walked his eighth circuit from kitchen looping around the living room and back again.

"Don't be stupid," Bill said, so supportive as usual. "That's a myth. If it takes, it takes. If it doesn't..."

"They," Tom corrected, stopping in front of him. "Not 'it,' Bill; 'they.' These are our babies we're talking about--"

"Not yet," Bill replied. "Not until they take. They're embryos right now, the possibility of a baby."

Tom rolled his eyes, shook his head at Bill in a sad sort of gesture, and walked for the far side of the room to grab the dog leashes, slapping his leg as he went.

Their two big dogs recognized the sound and came running. Bill recognized Tom's onset of stubborn and shrugged, getting up to make them a lunch that neither of them would have the appetite to eat.

As the jingle of leashes being fastened reached Bill's ears, he stood for a moment, bracing himself against the kitchen counter, stewing and rumpling up the hair at the back of his head. He tried not to imagine every single detail that went into the procedure that would culminate in the potentiality of his baby adhered alongside Tom's in the womb, but Bill knew that any detail out of their hands or observation or possibility of control was apt to drive Tom to distraction. For Bill, there was so much he didn't want to know, and so he ignored it. For Tom, he was snared in those same details and the possibility for each one to go wrong at any point.

"Wait up," Bill called out, jogging for the front of the house.

Tom paused with both leashes in his hands as Bill got his tennis shoes on and scrambled to follow. They kept such irregular hours they were doing the dog walk at slightly past noon. Being up all night wouldn't be anything new once the babies came along, Bill knew.

He was nervous; they both were, and each of them were falling into the defensive patterns that would keep them from making a meaningful connection and overcoming the tenseness of this moment.

Bill held his hand out for a leash and after a moment, Tom pressed one into his fingers, avoiding his gaze.

They walked in silence for several measures, cutting through a side yard and taking the path that would bring them to a nearby park.

"I'm sorry," Bill began, grimacing as he realized how formal and rehearsed the words sounded. "I didn't mean to minimize your feelings on this, or make it seem as though it's any less than..."

"It's okay," Tom cut him off, curt.

Bill skewed his mouth, giving Tom a sideways glare. "Will you let me get through the whole apology?"

Tom was quiet and their steps slowed as one of the dogs drifted to the side, browsing a patch of grass and letting his lead go taut as he paused to water it.

"I'm sorry," Bill concluded, deciding it was best to leave it at that.

"I get it," Tom returned. "I know you don't think of them as babies yet, Bill, but I do. I'm already...I know we haven't started doing up the baby room yet, or getting anything they'd need; we agreed to wait on that, see how the pregnancy took. But I already think of them as the people they're going to be."

"Tom," Bill said, surprised. He'd known Tom hoped, of course, but he had no idea his twin was so fully invested.

Tom gave him a wistful smile. "So, I can't just think of them as eggs, or fetuses, or whatever clinical term. To me it's not implantation. It's their potential, becoming real."

Bill reached up and adjusted his glasses, digging a finger in at the corner of one eye. When he looked at it that way, it was simultaneously soothing and even more stressful. "You know what I think?" he asked shyly, gripping the dog leash harder in one hand.

"Hmm," Tom made an inquiring noise. His mouth tugged up in a half-smile. "Probably."

"We need to walk the dogs to exhaustion, and go shut ourselves up at home and have a marathon," Bill decided.

"A sex marathon?" Tom said hopefully.

Bill arched a brow. "Well, I was thinking that pile of BluRays we've had by the TV for ages, but if you're up for it..."

Tom broke into a jog, tugging his dog forward. "Bill, we're going to be parents soon. We've got to seize every chance we've got, you know?"

Bill's eyes widened. Four a.m. feedings. Bottle-feeding and burping and changing diapers for not just one baby, but _two_.

"Why are we doing this again?" he demanded, trying to catch up, but Tom had a head start and he never did give Bill much slack.

"Because you love me," Tom called back, raising a fist in the air.

Bill pursed his lips at Tom's retreating back. "Yeah, I do," he said, quiet enough to remain unheard.

It wasn't real yet, and if it had remained up to him, it might have stayed unrealized forever. Thanks to Tom, not only wanting it but seeing it through, they'd create something beyond their music that would carry on and continue.

* * *

There were many milestones Tom had marked in his life, good and bad, and Bill had been there for all of them. Bill had even _been_ some of them; taking some of the shine off his first kiss, giving him an even better one the next day. Bill had shared himself with Tom as he never would with anyone, and Tom had recognized a long time ago that all his better parts would be saved for Bill, only Bill. They had made and lost record deals together, won awards, played immense sold-out stadiums in countries they'd have been hard-pressed to locate on a map.

Bill had been there when Tom carved out his own milestones, doing his own endorsement deals – bossy on the sidelines as usual – and providing unsolicited but supportive advice when Tom had gotten frustrated at the pace.

Through the ups and downs, Bill had wiped his tears away or given him his best and brightest grin or looked so proud it made _Tom_ want to burst.

It was a cloudless October day when the clinic called, rousing Tom from a last smoke on the back deck – they were trying to quit, again, and swearing it would happen by whatever delivery estimate they were given if the baby, or babies took. He fumbled his phone off the patio table, nearly dropping it twice before he managed to answer the call. Beside him, Bill tipped his sunglasses low to peer at Tom over the rims.

The call was brief and Tom crushed his cigarette halfway through, eyes locked on Bill's. They both knew this was another moment they'd remember, good or bad, all their lives.

"Did they...?" Bill began in a hushed, strained voice, leaving the rest as unframed possibility.

"Anya's pregnant," Tom confirmed, and they groped across the table to join hands. A sudden swell overtook Tom and he blinked, hard.

"Do they know if both of them...made it?" Bill concluded, and held himself stiff, his lip held between his teeth, eyes glossy.

Tom shook his head. "Not yet," he said, squeezing down on Bill's hand. "They won't know until the pregnancy is far enough along that an ultrasound can be done, you know?"

"Mmf," Bill said with a nod, pulling his hand from Tom's. He looked to the sky, but a smile touched his lips.

"We're going to have a baby," Tom said, knowing it was too soon to be excited but the emotion was there, churning within him newly-fledged.

Bill clapped with the tips of his fingers. "We're going to have babies," he revised, and in his smile was a calm certainty. He blew out a huge breath, his smile unfettered. "Ahh, now I know why people take up hobbies, you know? I want to redecorate the whole house, top to bottom! Something, anything, to fill the time between now and then."

"Read more parenting books; you don't want to be a bad mother, do you?" Tom suggested, and flinched back before Bill could even take a swing.

"I'll show you 'mother!'" Bill threatened, chasing him from the scene of Tom's crime.

* * *

One of the inclusions in the surrogate contract had been their attendance for ultrasounds, getting to 'visit' with the new life – Bill wanted to sing to their unborn child, or children – and at the six-week appointment, the clinic had assured them they'd know for sure. The six-week mark would be able to divine whether they were having twins, or only the one.

Bill was trying to discern who was more nervous over the event, he or Tom – his twin's nervousness transmitted through to him loud and clear, or it was his own returned two-fold. They were both fidgeting as they moved from waiting room to the cool interior of a darkened hospital room. Anya was laid out on a table, one arm propped under her head nonchalant as anything, a nurse beside her and the sonogram technician reaching for a tube, adjusting dials and glancing at the two of them as they came into the room.

It was weird, Bill knew, but no one would say so; they were rock stars and they were supposed to be eccentric after all, weren't they? They were what the public had made them, cleaving only to each other.

Beneath the cover of standing beside the high exam table, Bill gripped at Tom's fingers. It was to keep his brother's nervous fingers still, he told himself. The buzz of anxiety prickled through them both. They weren't anywhere near past the first trimester yet, not far enough to say with any certainty they were pregnant – and wouldn't _that_ be a headline for Bild, Bill considered, galled. They still made money off residuals and couldn't seem to avoid remaining newsworthy even after announcing Tokio Hotel's retirement.

Today, though, they would find out if they were expecting twins or, the far likelier option, only one child had taken hold.

Tom's fingers were spasmodic in his as the technician spread gel over Anya's exposed belly, not so much as faintly rounded yet with the beginnings of the pregnancy.

Bill looked on with curiosity, adrift with a sort of detachment from what was happening and disliking it. Everything they'd done so far had been he and Tom, planning their children together. Now a third party was involved – not only a part of what was going on, but essential. Seeing Anya on the table made this less Bill's moment, less his and Tom's. He was an observer for this, and it galled him.

With a few twists of the ultrasound wand, an image swam in black and white over the screen that the technician had positioned so all of them could see.

Bill frowned, leaning in to peer at the image and brushing Anya's arm.

"Sorry," he murmured, and Anya gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment, her own eyes fixed on the grainy image.

"There's a baby, all right," the technician said, tone indulgent.

Bill squinted. He saw a blobby black lima bean.

"Only one?" Tom prompted, his voice hoarse.

"There—" the technician said, positioning a finger above, but not touching the screen. "That's the body, and the head..." The wand moved over Anya's belly and they all exclaimed quietly.

"He looks like a tadpole," Tom said, thick as though his throat were closing. "Is the baby a he?"

"Too soon to say," the technician replied, and traced out another black sphere on the screen. "And there's a head."

"Two heads?" Bill prompted, clenching down on Tom's hand.

"Two heads, two babies," the technician confirmed. "It's still very early, but as of right now, you're expecting twins, Mr. Kaulitz."

 _I knew it,_ Bill wanted to say to Tom as he turned to his twin with a smug look, but the happiness on Tom's face wiped out every other thought. He grinned, bowing his head in silent gratitude.

"Congratulations," Anya said quietly, her hands bunched on the lifted-up hem of her robe.

Bill turned to her, newly effusive in the radiance of impending fatherhood. "Thanks to you," he said, and touched her arm on purpose this time. "Thank you."

"Want to double the payment, for twins?" Anya joked, her eyes crinkling up in a smile.

"Twice as much trouble to raise, you think they'll be twice as hard to carry?" Bill inquired, throwing an elbow at Tom.

Anya shook her head. "I think you two will have the hardest job," she replied.

"The most rewarding," Tom said, so low Bill could have missed it.

* * *

Following through with check-ups, and designing baby's first scrap-book, and attending suit fittings for Georg's wedding were booked in side by side with days where they tackled the remodel of their house in earnest. For the second time in Tom's life he was planning on wearing a monkey suit, and of course if he was going to do it, it would be custom-made and elegant. Even Bill wouldn't be able to find fault.

Somehow they were halfway through Anya's pregnancy and bringing home the ultrasound prints that proved they were having boys – relief to them both, and a source of amusement to their mother – when someone from their management team at Universal called.

"Twin boys for the two of you; karma does exist," Simone had quipped.

Bill had sniffed and lofted his nose in the air. "What would we do with a girl? This way, there's no surprises."

Though they were retired, their former management team still handled some aspects of publicity and other matters associated with a continuing public profile. Tom had thought on some wistful level they might not always need PAs, for instance, and that was not happening. They still had bodyguards when they went to certain public venues. They couldn't go out in public without planning and forethought.

It should have been no surprise when they were called up and informed that someone had talked to the media about the babies.

Tom slammed his fist down on the kitchen counter. They'd been so careful. There had been confidentiality contracts signed by everyone who'd so much as looked at them; all of the hospital appointments had been under Anya's name, all of Bill and Tom's appointments had been under their assistant's name. They had done everything but a goddamned shell game to keep it all a secret.

"You should pre-empt this and appear on New Kerner," Dunja told him bluntly.

"I haven't even had my morning coffee and you're telling me I have to go on the talk show circuit?" Tom protested.

There was a silence during which Tom inferred an eyeroll. "It's past noon," Dunja informed him.

"And?" Tom prompted, wondering why anyone expected their sleeping patterns to change now that they were retired. "It's my first cup of the day."

"Not exactly morning anymore," Dunja mumbled before changing the subject. "If you want to get on top of damage control, I can get you a slot on New Kerner tomorrow afternoon."

"Efficient as ever," Tom complimented her. "Manipulation and problem solving in the same breath."

"You're the one I have to persuade," Dunja said, intuiting that as ever, Bill would be willing to make a public appearance for their greater good.

"You might find Bill a bit more reticent these days," Tom warned.

"Please," Dunja returned with a small snort. "He'll always love to be 'seen,' Tom; you can't take that out of his basic personality makeup."

Tom pinched his mouth and gazed at the far wall where Bill had pinned color swatches. Nesting, he called it. Turning the house upside down and driving them both crazy, was how Tom saw it.

"And you'll pre-screen the questions?" Tom bargained. Now, like then, he didn't want any surprises that would blindside them both and send Bill into a panic attack for the rest of the week.

"Like always," Dunja promised. "So you'll do it?"

"I don't see why we can't just issue a written statement and ask people to respect our privacy," Tom said with a sigh.

"Tom," Dunja replied, managing to pack 'you're so naïve' and 'you ought to know by now' into the single syllable of his name. "You're lucky I'm not asking the two of you to do a spread on Vogue with the mother of your children."

"Babies are not in vogue!" Tom exclaimed, horror-stricken at the thought. He'd been talked into a lot of things in the name of 'tasteful' and 'fashion' and the thought of posing with a half-naked Anya, baby bulge displayed in prominence, twin brother preening to the other side of her, filled him with nameless terror. "And I won't do it!"

"That's why I'm not asking, and this is a counter-measure to appease the public who still apparently can't get enough of the Kaulitz twins, if Bild's message board is any indication," Dunja informed him. "So you'll do it?"

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did this happen?"

"Bild would only say 'anonymous source,' nothing more," Dunja replied.

"I want someone fired," Tom said, fretful. The last thing he'd wanted was potential exposure of his newborns to a ravening public. And he was not selling photos of their babies to a top bidder, no matter how much Bill begged or pouted or pointed out how incredibly photogenic their sons were.

"If they ever find out who did it, I'm sure someone will be," Dunja said. "But don't count on it. Can I book this for you, then?"

"Yes," Tom said glumly. "But I'm _not_ going to be on my best behavior."

Dunja snorted into his ear. "That's Bill's problem, now."

So they found themselves in makeup getting prepped for an appearance yet again. New Kerner had been airing only a few months, and seeing as the original show had been good to them in the past, they were glad to give the new establishment a ratings bump.

The host gave them an encouraging smile as they all settled into their roles. "The Kaulitz twins, Germany's most eligible bachelors, now that word has reached the public that the two of you are expecting your own children, I guess the number one question on everyone's mind is...are there wedding bells on the horizon, for either of you?"

"Haha, no, I've always said I only believe in love for one night, you know, I'm the big playboy of the band..." Tom licked his lips and reached up to tug nervously at an earlobe. "And Bill, well everyone knows the only long-term relationship he's had with a bitch is with our dogs...oof!" He was cut off by the impact of Bill's elbow to his side.

"I'm sorry, I think someone micced Tom today by accident," Bill said sweetly, waving a manicured hand. "Both of us have been too busy to settle down and find that one person, you know, but we've been talking about what it would be like to have kids for ages. Finally we realized, you know, we've had our little family for twelve years and done so well, we could raise kids together, too. Tom and I do everything together, we're not just brothers, we're twins - it only makes sense to us that we take this big step and both become fathers together too."

"Neither of us has a permanent partner; I can't seem to settle down," Tom interjected, licking his lips and giving the camera a raunchy rise of his brow. "And Bill is so picky it would be a miracle if he found anybody, you know, who met his impossibly high standards who will also put up with him. Bill's got some surprisingly uncouth habits." Under the guise of cocking his leg up, Tom tried to scoot out of hitting range.

"But you seem to have no problem putting up with him," the interviewer observed.

"We are twins," Bill stated, hauling out the basic truth that so many people seemed to lose sight of, or misinterpret. "It's not only putting up with, but being with someone who is like a part of yourself, someone you can't live without. And Tom's afraid to say, but even though he's been with _soooo_ many women, he hasn't found one to put up with him either."

"No wedding bells," the interviewer stated, leading them toward the next agreed-upon revelation.

"Not for us!" Bill said, looking delighted rather than stricken by that sad reality. "But Georg is; Georg Listing, Tokio Hotel's bassist, is getting married in June."

"A generation of young women will be safe," Tom put in, leaning forward.

They spent a few minutes chatting on that before the interviewer led them back to the main subject. Bill could spend all day gloating over getting Tom into Armani for the second time ever, but that wouldn't be why people were tuning in to watch.

"So," the interviewer began, leaning forward. "We've heard a few details, none confirmed. The two of you are expecting one child, two...?"

"Two boys," Bill said, sitting up and giving his most winning professional smile. "One is mine and one is Tom's."

"As long as they labeled the tubes correctly," Tom added with a smirk. "Or they might have used mine for both; no way to tell. Bill could be shooting blanks after not using it for so long." He eased even closer to the arm of the couch as he sensed the withering glare on the back of his neck.

"Uhm," the interviewer faltered. "And...and the mother; did you choose...?"

"We chose a donor," Bill stated matter of factly, taking the lead. "We don't know who the mother is, it's completely anonymous, she doesn't know we've gotten her donation. And to carry the babies we hired a surrogate."

" _A_ surrogate?" the interviewer prompted, with a credible imitation of surprise.

"Yes, we are only using one surrogate," Bill replied. "We wanted to be twins having twins, you see? Something no one else has done; Tom and I are like that."

"Though, there will be no way to tell your sons apart, is that correct?" the interviewer questioned.

"That's right," Tom spoke up.

"That's how we wanted it," Bill cut in. "They'll both be ours, no favoriting, no way to tell who is the son and who's the nephew."

"That should make the family life interesting!" the interviewer exclaimed jovially. "So what will they call you; both 'father' or 'papa?'"

"They'll call me Dad, of course," Tom was quick to speak up. "I expect they'll end up calling Bill by 'Mama' because he's the closest thing they'll have to one, you know? He's basically like a woman..."

Bill laughed loud enough to drown Tom out, and the interviewer joined in with a nervous air. "Their grandmother is very excited already to spend lots of time with our boys. Maybe she'll stay with us long enough I won't have to change any diapers!"

The interviewer nodded before turning to speak directly into a camera that was zooming in. "More later from Tom and Bill Kaulitz, formerly of Tokio Hotel, after the break!"

Tom leaned forward and grasped his glass of water to avoid Bill's eyes. He was going to get killed later, but it was good television and perpetuated the charade that kept them safe.

He'd always been better at blowing enough smoke to distract from the fact he was madly in love with his own twin brother.

Bill ignored Tom through the rest of their segment and kept his head turned away as production assistants removed their mics. Tom was growing nervous as they were led back to their private green room from which PA staff would pick them up.

Tom was quick to offer a conciliatory gambit. "Angry sex?"

"Mm," Bill agreed, arching his brow at Tom.

"You're on top?" Tom checked.

"Mm-hmm," Bill confirmed, giving him smoldering eyes.

Tom bit his lip over a quick grin, ducking his head to try and hide how much he enjoyed the thought of an intense, maddened railing. Bill had a lot of strength in those skinny hips of his and he knew how to dole out pleasure with quick flicks and long, lasting thrusts.

"That's my kind of happy ending," Tom teased, receiving a smack to the arm for his troubles for which he didn't bother to flinch away.

* * *

"It's not really a baby shower," Bill insisted, trying for the fourth time to recalibrate Tom's opinion on the whole prospect. "It's more like a baby...party. Welcoming the upcoming babies."

"No matter what you want to call it, it still sounds gay," Tom said with a frown.

"Says the one who was eating out a man's ass not two hours ago!" Bill exclaimed, while Tom hissed and covered his dog's ears and looked around as though he expected paparazzi to pop out from behind the coat-stand.

"You're going to have to learn to watch your mouth when the babies get here," Tom informed him with a censorious frown.

"They're not here yet," Bill said direly, "and meanwhile you have to deal with me, and the abysmal lack of sex you'll be having."

Tom shrugged, reorienting for the television. "So, another taste of what to look forward to when the boys get here."

They hadn't named them yet, a weighty decision that pressed in on Bill whenever they visited Anya. She was seven months along and the boys were big enough to kick vigorously, so much so that Bill could see the movement beneath her skin, a process both fascinating and disturbing to him. He'd written a new song for the new life, and crooned it like a lullaby as Tom played his acoustic for background accompaniment.

"I don't know if it does any good," Bill had said, hovering his hand near the bulge of what he'd been reliably informed was one of his sons' feet.

"They know you," Anya assured him, taking Bill's hand and pressing it to her bump.

"Right now, I think all they know is each other," he replied, but let his hand linger, fascinated by his son's first aimless touch.

A list of names was pinned to the whiteboard they had formerly used to brainstorm song titles, remind each other of studio dates, jot down concepts for upcoming tours. Bill missed those hot lights and fervent screams already, with an ache that might never leave him, but he was filling it up with so much more.

He wanted Tom beside him for all of it, each step.

"Mom has put a lot of effort into this," Bill scolded, hauling out the trump card he hadn't used yet. "For you to just blow her off like this for video games and lying around in your underwear..."

"Ugh, fine, I'll go get dressed," Tom gave in at last. "But I'm not fixing my hair, I'll put it under a beanie."

Bill hummed a disapproving note, knowing he couldn't laud his success too obviously or Tom would retreat like a spooked creature. He wasn't expecting Tom to show up looking his best, and wouldn't necessarily want him to. There was still a disgusting number of marriage-eligible cousins and although Simone had given up the matchmaking bent, there were plenty of busybodies in Simone's side of the family tree.

"And I'm driving," Tom added as he headed for the stairs.

That suited Bill just fine. They were perfectly well capable of keeping their children fully supplied with everything they would need from bottle warmers to wet naps; from the natural cloth diapers Tom had convinced Bill they should try, to the baby monitors that would connect their nightstand to their sons'. Nonetheless Bill was very well aware that presents would be involved today; not for him but for his sons, but as they were yet unborn, he'd be the one to give them due appreciation and write all the thank-you notes. He'd cuddle the blankets and quilts that would wrap his children upon their arrival and narrow down whether they'd go with traditional German naming convention or something more traditional than Tom and Bill.

The baby 'welcoming party' hosted by Simone at a modest bed and breakfast in the area turned out to be full of women, and frills, and so much pink that Bill began to wonder if their mother had passed around the word they were having a boy, after all. He didn't mind the pink but he was trying to use gender-neutral greens and yellows and reds. There were no other males present under the age of six, though there were a few hot-eyed young maidens who appeared ready to chase Tom around the table a few times and straight upstairs into one of the available beds. Tom escaped early to take piles of gifts out to the car. Bill was left with a great-aunt clinging to his shoulder with an age-spotted paw, rasping on about how she was glad to see he was growing up but disappointed he was doing it in the wrong order.

"Babies first and no woman in sight," the older woman lamented. "What the one generation does, the next breaks up even further. Why, at least your mother had a partner, even if she wasn't wed..."

"Tom's better than any 'partner,'" Bill interrupted, extracting himself from her claws. "At least I know my twin is with me for life, not like someone who'd get up and leave because they don't like playing house anymore."

Her eyes widened and her grip became slack enough to permit Bill to escape. He sought his mother out to say his goodbyes for both him and Tom, if needed.

"It's a madhouse," Simone exclaimed over the din as Bill bent to press a kiss to her temple. "I wanted to keep it to close family, but everyone is so excited, you see--" she waved a hand to indicate the press of cousins, aunts, and greats.

"And curious," Bill said sardonically, having fielded the question 'why are you having kids with Tom?' put to him at least twenty times. The response of wanting children, but no immediate prospects of marriage seemed to satisfy no one.

"Just tell them you want to be in Guinness," Simone advised.

Bill's brows arched. "Perfect," he declared. He rounded up the last armful of handmade baby clothes – he knew they'd go through them, and it would be a while before the twins were old enough to wear couture, even infant-sized. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"You're too busy watching out for your brother's virtue with all of these nubile cousins on the prowl," Simone returned with a laugh.

Bill grumbled, and retired to the driveway and the waiting Audi. "All right," he sighed, ignoring Tom's attentively inquisitive eyes as he buckled his seatbelt and set aside the particularly hideous Pepto-pink crocheted onesie on top of the pile.

"You owe me a bachelor party for that one," Tom told him.

Bill twitched. "But we're not getting married!"

"Georg's," Tom replied, steering the car onto the road, still eyeing Bill from the periphery of his vision. "I know you were going to ditch."

Bill folded his arms over his front, dumping dozens of baby clothes to the footwell. "Tom," he said, most decidedly _not_ whining. "Avoiding that bachelor party is my life's goal."

"Your life's goal was going platinum in fifty countries, and we hit that by the time we were twenty-six," Tom shot back.

"It's my new life's goal," Bill stated. "Everybody needs something to continue striving toward."

"I'll put out after we get home from the party," Tom said, obviously of the mind he was offering a persuasive bargain.

"You were going to put out anyhow," Bill observed. "Out of a combination of guilt and rampant hormones."

"Cousin Magda tried to follow me into the downstairs bathroom," Tom said. "All dewy-eyed and heaving bosom. My head was still spinning from all the baby pinks and blues. Do you have any idea--"

"Okay, all right," Bill interrupted. He cinched his arms tighter over his chest, most definitely not pouting. "I'll go to the stupid bachelor party."

A moment later Tom's hand was warm on his thigh. Bill kept frowning, but set his hand over it. His heart never failed to flutter over the way Tom's fingers fit, just so, into his.

* * *

Tom woke, stretched, and blinked the sleep from his eyes as he broke from pleasant, indefinable dreams into the crust of daylight. A dog was padding along the floor, its recent departure from the bed no doubt the impetus that had woken him, and in the distance Bill was moving around the bathroom. Tom nestled onto his side against his pillow, grinning as the strains of "I'm Every Woman" floated back to him, Bill singing with gusto into his hairbrush and making up new words when he didn't remember all of the correct ones. Another day, another interval closer to the time they'd meet their sons on the outside world.

It was exhilarating and terrifying by turns - the delivery date was marked out on every calendar the house possessed. _Our sons,_ Bill had scrawled out proudly, even after Tom's cautionary word that it was a target date, not a certainty. Anya wanted a natural birth because she planned on more children later; her own, some day.

Tom got up, locating the nearest pair of track pants. He followed two of the dogs downstairs and ambled into the kitchen to get the coffee started. Over the past few months Bill had overseen the gutting of the house from top to bottom, each room but their bedroom getting swept by the renovation whirlwind. Tom had hoped to contain the hit to their bank account to two, maybe three rooms, but even he had gotten caught up.

He'd been bribed with the outfitting of the nursery, a.k.a. the toy room, he'd later realized. To his credit, he'd gotten lots of _wicked_ toys that would also serve as pattern recognition and developmental learning tools.

"Mm, morning," Bill said, breezing up behind him and pressing a kiss to Tom's stubbly jaw, arms yoking around his middle.

"Morning," Tom responded, smiling and turning his head for a more thorough kiss. He pulled back a moment later with a frown as a stab of anxiety went through him powerful as electro-shock. "Bill, what are we going to do when the twins are old enough to know what they're seeing?"

Bill's relaxed, easy expression pinched into an instant frown. "Tom..."

"And don't tell me I'm overreacting," Tom said, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

"You're not," Bill said with a sigh. He reached up to tug on his long hair, scraping it back with both hands into a makeshift ponytail. "You're right, we have to talk about it. But, first I want you to think...how many times did you go around telling other kids about Mom and Jorg's sex life?"

"Uh, _none,_ " Tom said pointedly. "That's gross, Bill."

"See?" Bill challenged. "All you do at that age is talk about how gross it is, kissing and all that other stuff. By the time they're old enough, we teach them what they can and can't say outside the house."

"I'll think about it," Tom said obstinately, folding his arms.

Bill seemed to deflate. "You think we need to keep it a secret?" he asked, his voice tiny, eyes huge. "In our own home?"

"I can't--" Tom began, but whatever he could or couldn't do was deferred as the ring of the house phone disrupted the tension between them.

Breaking their gaze, Bill went to go fetch it. Tom returned to the comfort of morning routine, pouring coffee for himself and heating up cream to keep Bill's cafe au lait hot for longer.

"Really?" Bill's voice rose. "You're serious? _Today??_ "

Reflexively, Tom glanced over his shoulder at the nearest calendar. The expected birth date was still there, circled several days hence. Instant panic turned his stomach into a squirm of writhing knots.

"And you're sure the babies are coming now," Bill said, as though he could bargain for a different time if only he could hold out for longer.

Tom bit back a laugh at the useless question and went to go fetch a pair of travel mugs to transfer their coffee over.

"Oh. Oh!" Bill sounded very startled. "They really are coming now, then! Okay! We'll be over as soon as we can."

He hung up and looked grateful enough to weep as Tom pressed a travel mug of coffee into his hand, cream and sugar the way he liked it. He took a sip, leaned against Tom for moral support, and confided, "We're having babies," as though Tom might not know of it.

"Thank goodness," Tom said, all solemnity. "I knew plowing you so often and thoroughly would show results, with persistence."

Bill wrinkled his nose, bit his shoulder, and drew back, looking into Tom's face with intent, searching eyes. "This is it," he concluded at last.

"I hope not," Tom replied. "Shouldn't we go for another, maybe a girl?"

"No way!" Bill exclaimed. "Two is the perfect number. Just the way we were, remember? If we'd had a little brother or sister, it would have been so unfair to them."

Tom trotted out the puppy eyes so rarely used anymore to try and get his way. "We could have two more?"

"We'll see how we feel after two years of diaper changes and spit-up," Bill decided. He clung to Tom's waist a moment before pushing off. "Let's go, let's go!"

Despite how organized they'd thought they were, all was chaos as they rushed around getting dressed, making phone calls, each of them managing a quick shave, arranging for bodyguards, finding the bags they'd packed for the occasion and toting them to the car before Bill had shrieked, 'the baby seats!' and they'd piled everything into the other car.

"We'd have time to go back," Tom protested, and remembered he'd left his camera upstairs in the computer room, therefore had to go fetch _that_. Every phase of their children's existence would be documented, possibly in video.

Not the birth, though; Anya had gotten that in writing.

When Tom returned to the garage, he stood beside the door a moment, gulping air. "What if I faint?" he said. "I haven't seen a vagina in over ten years, and under these circumstances..."

"You're not going to faint," Bill said, raising his hand as though to slap Tom; reaching out and grabbing the back of his neck, reeling him close.

"What if they don't like me?" Tom whispered. It had taken time for some of their dogs to warm up to him and even then, in his heart of hearts he worried they loved Bill best. His chest was tight.

"Breathe," Bill instructed, arms around him anchoring Tom in place, keeping him from falling apart. "I've got you, I'm here."

Tom nodded, lifting his head from the crook of Bill's shoulder. "I wouldn't want to do this without you."

"Well, you don't have to," Bill replied, sounding so businesslike it made Tom smile. "Are you ready?"

"Gonna have to be," Tom decided, pulling himself upright. "We're going to be parents. Dads. It's way past the point of backing out now."

"There, you get it," Bill said, approving. "We can do this. And we've got each other, Tom."

"Okay," Tom said, nodding as he fished his keys out. "Okay. Did you check the dogs' bowls? Lock the front door? Get the bag with all the boys' clothes?"

"Yes to all of it," Bill replied with a peculiar frown. "Tomi? You're definitely ready to be a dad."

Tom cracked open the passenger side of the station wagon. "I've been a dad for years," he asserted, thinking of their dog boys. "But, Bill?"

"Yeah, Tom?"

"I've heard horror stories about the placenta afterbirth," Tom recalled. "So if I actually faint, don't hold it against me, okay?"

Bill smirked at Tom in the way that let Tom know if it happened, it would become family legend.

As he started up the car to set them on course for the hospital, Tom found he was surprisingly okay with that.

The end result was most important in this case, after all.

* * *

The delivery room was low-key, and aside from the bushy-haired obstetrician calling Bill 'Mrs. Kaulitz,' which Tom was slow to correct, the delivery was carried out with no incident. The twins were full term, tinier than Bill had been expecting. They had red squalling face-shaped faces, Tom did not faint at the sight of placenta - though he turned whitish green, swayed, and faced the other way - and they were taken first by the nurses who did reflex testing and wrapped them like little bean burritos before handing them over.

Bill and his brother had planned toward that moment, talked, imagined, done all but role-played toward the instant their sons would be born and placed in their arms. They'd discussed who would hold each baby, even, and all that was lost as the nurses approached them both with a bundle of newly-burbling infant in their arms. Bill couldn't spare a thought for which baby it was, only that it was his as the nurse gently passed him over into his hands. His stomach convulsed in a quick, terrified swoop as he considered the catastrophic possibility of dropping his baby and he tightened his arms around the bundle, looking down in wonder as the nurse settled the head into the crook of his elbow.

Bill looked down into the baby's tiny, perfect face.

The baby. His son. _His_ baby. With a gasp, he began to breathe again. Something tender and new was unfolding inside him, a previously undiscovered emotion as he gazed into his son's unfocused eyes.

"Hello," Bill said, and the two names went through his head in quick succession, but he didn't know which to greet his son by. He glanced across at his twin, staring down into their other son's face with a rapt expression he'd never seen before and he couldn't even be jealous, because he'd discovered that same feeling within him. "Which is which?"

"Excuse me?" the nearest nurse inquired.

Tom's head lifted. "Who is the elder?" he clarified.

"Ah," the nurse said with a quick nod. She indicated the bundle in Tom's arms.

Bill sucked in a quick breath at the resonance of it all, bending his head to greet his sweet little son. "Hello, Bastien," he crooned, grinning his best and brightest as he heard Tom murmur, "Theo, welcome; we've been waiting for you."

Bill sighed happily, rocking the baby in his arms and sidling close to Tom so they could admire one another's bundle. He leaned over and grinned at Theo, as well, admiring the cloudy-grey unfocused gaze that would clear up in due time.

"So beautiful," Tom said, sounding awed.

"Absolutely perfect," Bill stated, because it was true. Their finest productions, though he wouldn't confess that to their collection of albums, especially not the beloved best-of.

"May I see them?" Anya asked, speaking up from where she was still lying quietly on the table as a nurse tended to her.

Looking up, Bill cradled his son Bastien as the wrapped bundle moved weakly in his arms, making a quiet sort of gurgle. He realized then that Anya hadn't held them, hadn't been first to gaze or touch the babies she'd carried for nine months for them.

"Of course," Bill was quick to reply, all generosity now that her part was over. Anya had been exactly what they needed, blending wry humor with a kind of unobtrusiveness that allowed for visitations with her growing belly rather than Anya as a person. He bent, supporting the newborn's head automatically as it began to wobble. "This is Bastien."

Anya's eyes were full as she regarded the baby with a wondering smile. She reached up to draw a finger along his clenched up little fist. "Hello from the outside," she greeted the baby.

Beside him, Tom dipped Theo to put him on display.

"And you too, little man," Anya whispered. "You've come to make your fathers very happy."

Come to make our lives complete, Bill realized, settling Bastien securely in his arms again. He gave Anya another smile as the nearest nurse gestured to them.

"Misters Kaulitz, this way, please?"

They were to follow the nurses to the maternity ward; there was an array of other things to be done, Bill knew, before their sons would be handed over again. A specialist would be helping them to attempt the first feeding later on, but Bill was fixed on the notion of their healthily-delivered infants for now. He was beaming fit to have won a prize on an entirely new playing field as they left the delivery room and were greeted by Simone and Gordon.

"Ohh," Simone quavered, catching sight of Tom and Bill with their armfuls. "My babies and their babies."

"Mom, stop," Tom muttered, abashed.

A camera clicked and Bill lifted his head from contemplation of Bastien's first yawn to see Gordon grinning, lowering his camera and settling an arm around Simone's shoulders.

"All right," one of the nurses told them. "You and your family can visit with them later, but for now, if you would?" She stood before him, arms already upraised, and Bill was reluctant to let go.

He touched Bastien's face with his fingertips as the nurse took him into her arms.

When Bill turned, clasping his empty arms across his front, Simone was there to give him a sympathetic, sweetly nostalgic kind of smile. "Did the whole world shift, Billy?" she murmured.

"The universe," Bill replied honestly. He was wrenched. He hadn't even gotten to hold Theo and he saw his devastation mirrored on Tom's face.

She closed in to give him a hug, the familiarity of her light perfume embracing him along with the strength of her arms. "I'm so proud of you," she murmured.

When she pulled back, Bill searched her dark eyes, so similar to his. "Even though...?" he murmured, because she knew; she had to. Not one question as to why they'd done it this way had passed her lips, and surely it was because she'd accepted their truth long ago.

"A mother can only be proud when her sons have found love that defines their lives, and accomplished so much," Simone responded. Her eyes were bright at the corners but her smile unwavering.

"We love you too, Mama," Bill whispered, and hurried to jostle elbows with Gordon and peer at the pictures their step-father had taken as Simone went to embrace Tom.

They took lunch in the hospital café together though Bill couldn't eat a bite; he hooked his ankle with Tom's for the tactile comfort he needed and tossed back a coffee while his thoughts remained on the two wee Kaulitz newborns being put through their Apgar paces, the first important tests of their new lives. Afterward they visited with Anya to give her thanks and roses, yellow roses bound in baby's breath that made her laugh at Bill for his sentimentality. She was quietly emotional and Bill didn't want to linger, recognizing her melancholy at bearing children she'd never raise, but unable to share the emotion in the extremity of his happiness.

Afterward they wandered past the maternity window. Bill wanted to slip his fingers into Tom's as they stood by the glass peering in. Simone scratched her knuckles over the pane, cooing softly at the two squirming bundles in the front row while Gordon was warned off from taking pictures because of the glare off the glass.

"We'd better make the drive home," Simone said at last, touching Bill's shoulder, reaching up to tweak Tom's ear. "Good work. Both of you."

"We'll see you soon," Tom replied.

"Take care of those babies," Simone told them, her glimmering smile expressing all her grandmotherly delight and more.

"Always," Bill returned.

Beside him, Tom's smallest finger brushed his, and Bill's smile widened.

At the end of the day they were left side by side in a cubby-sized room as they waited for nurses to bring their sons back to them.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight," Tom confessed with a shaky laugh, as Bill rubbed his hands together, pacing back and forth.

"Can I hold Theo this time?" Bill asked, patting his fingertips together. He remembered seeing bracelets around those little newborn wrists and wondered how long it would be before he'd find all the little cues that told one son from the other.

"Of course," Tom replied, widening his eyes. "It's my turn with Bastien."

"I hope you still say that when it's time for diaper-changing," Bill murmured, and whirled as the door opened.

"What was that?" Tom demanded behind him.

"Theo," Bill chirped, holding his arms out as the nurses approached with warm smiles and those already-beloved tiny bundles. He kept a hand under the baby's head, already practiced with that necessary support as he took his other son into his arms.

A tiny fist uncurled and Bill stroked a finger against the newness of an unlined pink palm. He shifted from side to side, swaying unconsciously as he aligned himself near Tom. "Ohh," Bill murmured, his voice catching as Theo's fingers tightened around Bill's index like a slow-closing trap. He was enthralled.

"He's saying hello," Tom said softly, looking up from his own precious cargo. He grinned, teeth glinting at Bill in the low light. "Love at first sight, yeah? He knows his papa."

"It's a grasping reflex," Bill was quick to correct.

"It's love," Tom replied. "He's holding on to you. It's a promise, it's his trust."

"I'm supposed to be the romantic," Bill informed his twin, like Tom wouldn't know. He leaned in to nuzzle the crown of his son's head, closing his eyes against the prickle of tears, chest tight and heart full. That previously self-centered organ within him, the place where there'd only been room for him and Tom, was expanding within him to encompass not only the love that had defined him thus far and made him the man he was; but enough to grow and multiply and enfold the scrunch-eyed bundles in their arms. It was strange to him, so instant, like the sun unfolding.

He looked over at Tom, who was laying his cheek against their other son's head, brown eyes soft and wondering as they met.

"You're better with words," Tom said, quiet. "I have the same things inside me."

The same things we'll give to them, Bill inferred, and pursed his lips at Theo.

"I never understood having faith in anything but you," Bill told his twin, their dark eyes connecting over the tops of two little heads. He smiled at Tom, kissed the downy scalp, and told their sons as much as his twin, "I get it now; it's more than you and me. This is how we continue."


End file.
